


wasting time in cold water

by babbeige



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bathtubs, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Loneliness, Mentioned Quackity, Positive ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, its less sad than it sounds, karl has like 2 lines, kind of, suicide ideation, vent fic, wilbath!!, wilbur in a bath what will he do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbeige/pseuds/babbeige
Summary: its pathetic, and wilbur has never really been good at confronting his issues but then again, not many people are, are they?escapism and selective ignorance are sweet and simple solutions, so unlike the gruelling amount of effort and will power one would need to crawl their way out of this little despair spiral he has fallen into.'fall'– in all honesty, it was less of a fall and more of a gentle drift. like the quiet lulling of sleep. just more sad, and most likely permanent if he doesn't get his shit together soon, judging by the state of him right now.//wilbur has a not-so-happy moment in his bathtub and he's all alone.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 210





	wasting time in cold water

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing rpf and boom its a vent fic. just like all my other fics. ill 100% delete this in a heartbeat if wilbur expresses discomfort in being written alongside darker themes.
> 
> \+ i swear this isnt /that/ angsty , and im sorry for the incoherent flow & paragraphs of pure word vomit as per usual eheh.
> 
> pog

its 1 o'clock in the morning and wilbur is, quite eloquently put, feeling like shit.

he's curled into a pathetic ball in the corner of his bed, surrounded and covered by blankets. he feels so full he doesn't know if he wants to throw up, cry, yell or all of the above. something feels like its bleeding out inside of his flesh and organs, something sick and rotting but colorful. like a painful mash of neon rainbows, jarring pigments glowing but blending into a nasty assortment of bland, dark paint. it could've been nice, something normal, but instead its something dirty and ugly now. he can't help but think its fitting for someone like him. ugly, unuseful and disappointing. 

a potential absolutely crushed into pieces like fragile glass stomped on by heavy chunky boots again and again until all is left are useless grains of what could have been. he feels so much but nothing is coming out. inside, it aches, screams and cries. it steals his tears, steals his words, steals his cries. steals. it steals and leaves him empty and hollow. stained and dirty and without a use. wasteful. 

he's so alone in the rather large home he's bought. its old, worn and stocked with memories he has no right to see. he feels out of place. he always has, regardless of the many different settings he's lived in. he supposes that's just the way it always will be.

he hasn't streamed today. its probably for the best because as much as he prides himself on his decent skills at looking like hes having the time of his life when people are watching, slipping up a few times over an at least one hour long timespan seems pretty likely. maybe he should be editing instead of wallowing in his bed, trying to block out the outside world with cold blankets and soft pillows and lonely pondering.

either way, he buries his head further into his blankets, squeezes his eyes shut and listens to his mind fill the stagnant silence with equally silent thoughts. 

. 

.

.

its whatever-the-fuck o'clock in the morning and wilbur is in his bathroom, alone.

his mind feels hazy and now hes watching his tub fill with water, growing and growing, rising at a calm, constant pace. he's sat beside the filling tub, black trousers unbuttoned and unbuckled and haphazardly pulled up to cover the stinging lines he apparently decided slit into his legs an hour or however long ago – didn't he promise himself to never do this again? turns out hes just as quick to break promises as all the romantic partners in his life, go figure – as if it'd all go away if he'd cover it up with thick denim. as if it'd all go away if he ignored it. fuckin' hell.

its pathetic, and hes never really been good at confronting his issues but then again, not many people are, are they? escapism and selective ignorance are sweet and simple solutions, so unlike the gruelling amount of effort and strong will one would need to crawl their way out of this little despair spiral wilbur has fallen into.

'fall'.. – in all honesty, it was less of a fall and more of a gentle drift. like the quiet lulling of sleep. just more sad, and most likely permanent if he doesn't get his shit together soon judging by the state of him right now. 

his hands are cold and shaking, thighs bleeding into the pair of jeans that always made him self conscious of how much space he took up. 

the tub fills and he lets his hand fall and sink into the clear nothingness.

its cold. very, very cold.

.

wilbur switches the tap off and stands to shimmy off his trousers. hes for once glad his bathroom walls are ominously painted black by the previous owners, because as obnoxiously bright his bathroom lights are, the brightness is still mostly dampened by the black paint. the brightest thing there is his white bathtub, along with the glimmering clear water it holds. he discards his clothing into a pile far away enough from the tub to not get wet and slowly steps into the icy water.

his thighs sting like hell and by the time hes seated in the tub, he's trembling and tearing up.

the water turns pink. it smells of iron. eugh.

he sinks deeper into the bath and leans his head against the edge of it. he clenches his eyes shut. god, he hates everything right now. he just wants to sleep and sink into the absolute cold around him. sink, sink, and sink deeper and deeper until he disappears forever, until hes gone. until hes cold too. cold and quiet. cold and dead. how morbid.

he's tired and somewhere in his freezing chest, it aches, pained and angst-filled, tired too.

. 

.

a chime goes off, soft but a disturbance nonetheless. he blinks open his eyes, looking at the phone he left on the very edge of the sink. how rude of his phone to distract him from his session of suicide ideation. he pulls an arm out from the water, shaking it off so his phone won't completely be drenched in his blood-water. gross.

a twitch notification. karl. hes streaming with quackity. wilbur contemplates popping into his stream to say hi, and eventually decides against it. he doesn't particularly want to acknowledge another human's significantly less depressing existence right now. he goes on discord instead, joining an empty voice call. he's all alone and he doesn't know if he likes it or not. 

he sets his phone back on the edge of his sink, just close enough so its in reach but still not too at risk of falling to its death. everything is pretty much the same. the same quiet and the same cold, except now it feels less like dying and more like reflecting.

hes all alone in an app meant for hosting friendships and socializing.

and it's nice, wilbur decides after a while. he likes the empty quiet of a place he'd usually spend chatting and yelling with friends. feeling like everyone has abandoned this place has never been this welcomed. he remembers and yet doesn't. his mind is clear of any exact memory, yet he feels the same drunk bliss he always feels whilst streaming and being in a voice call with others.

its nice.

.

a chime goes off again, a familiar sound that wilbur recognizes immediately. someone joined the vc. who-

" hey, wil! what're you doing in a vc alone? "

its karl. isn't he streaming?

" hello karl, im in my bath." he replies after a slight pause. his voice doesn't sound different from usual. he almost wished it would. or maybe not.

whatever. he doesn't know or care anymore.

" oh, okay. am i alright to be here? im streaming right now. quackity is getting food right now but he'll join the vc too if he sees im here."

" yeah, its alright. i dont mind. " wilbur replies on default without much thought. there goes his private overthinking bath session. oh well. it'll be nice, and hopefully significantly less lonesome. 

his bath feels just a tad warmer.

**Author's Note:**

> wilbur & quackity are my two comfort streamers but it hurts me to put big Q through anything bad so wilbur will be who i project onto lol.


End file.
